The Ballads of Marko Kraljević, as Translated by D. H. Low

Contents

• I. The Marriage of King Vukašin
• III. Uroš and the Mrnjavčevići

I. The Marriage of King Vukašin ~ top

        Wizened Vukašin wrote a letter
        In white Skadar on the Bojana,
        And sent it into Hercegovina,
        To the white stronghold Pirlitor,
        To Pirlitor over against Durmitor,
        To Vidosava wife of Momčilo.
        Secretly he wrote and secretly he sent to her.
        In the letter thus he spake to her:
        
        'Vidosava, wife of Momčilo,
        What wilt thou in yonder ice and snow?
        If from the Castle thou lookest up,
        Thou has naught that is fair to see
        But only white Durmitor mountain
        Arrayed in ice and snow,
        In summer as in winter.
        If from the castle thou lookest down,
        Yonder gloomy Tara floweth turbulent,
        Rolling with it trees and stones.
        No ford is there on Tara nor any bridge,
        And round about are pine trees and rugged rocks,
        Therefore do thou poison Vojvoda Momčilo,
        Or poison him or betray him into my hands.
        Come to me to the level sea-coast,
        To white Skadar on Bojana.
        I shall take thee for my true wife,
        And thou shalt be Lady Queen.
        Thou shalt spin silk on a golden spindle,
        Silk shalt thou spin, on silk shalt thou sit,
        Thou shalt wear velvet and brocade,
        and all the 'broidery shall be of purest gold.
        How fair is Skadar on Bojana!
        If thou lookest at the hills above the Castle,
        Figs and olives are ever growing,
        Vineyards also there are, rich in grapes,
        And if thou lookest from the Castle downwards,
        Yonder fair wheat waxeth,
        And round about are green meadows
        Wherethrough green Bojana floweth,
        And therein swim fishes of every sort
        That when thou wilt thou may'st eat of them fresh caught.'
        
        The letter came to Momčilo's wife,
        Heedful she scanned the letter, the wife of Momčilo,
        Heedful she scanned it and wrote another letter:

        'O my Lord King Vukašin,
        Not easy is it to betray Momčilo
        Not easy to betray nor yet to poison him.
        Momčilo hath a sister Jevrosima,
        She maketh ready for him the lordly meals,
        She tasteth the dish before him.
        Momčilo hath nine dear brothers,
        And twelve nephews- brothers' sons.
        They serve the red wine to him,
        They drink of each glass before him:
        Momčilo hath a horse Jabučilo,
        Jabučilo a wing-ed horse,
        That can fly whithersoever he will:
        Momčilo hath a sword with eyes,
        And feareth none save God only.
        But hear me now King Vukašin,
        Do thou gather together a mighty host,
        And lead them forth to the level lake,
        And lie in a bushment in the greenwood.
        A strange custom hath Momčilo,
        Each holy Sunday in the morning
        He riseth early and goeth on hunting to the lake.
        With him he taketh his nine dear brothers,
        And his twelve brothers' sons,
        And forty henchmen from the Castle.
        And when the eve of Sunday is come,
        I will singe the wings of Jabučilo,
        I will seal up the keen sword,
        I will seal it fast with salt blood,
        That it may not be drawn forth of its sheath:
        Thus shalt thou slay Momčilo.'

        When this letter came to the King,
        And he perceived what the writing told him,
        He was filled with joy.
        And straightaway he gathered a mighty host,
        And came with the host to Hercegovina.
        He led them forth to the level lake
        And lay in a bushment in the greenwood.
        When now the eve of Sunday was come,
        Momčilo went to his bedchamber
        And laid him down on the soft pallet.
        Down her cheeks she wept hot tears,
        Wherefore Vojvoda Momčilo asked of her:

        'Vidosava, my faithful wife,
        What great grief is thine
        That thou criest tears down?'

        And Vidosava his wife made answer:

        'Lord and Master Momčilo Vojvoda,
        No ill-fortune is come upon me,
        But I have heard a wondrous marvel,
        I have heard- I have not seen-
        That thou has a horse Jabučilo,
        Jabučilo a wing-ed horse,
        But on thy horse have I seen no wings,
        And I believe it not-
        Also I fear me that thou art in danger to perish.'
        Sage was Vojvoda Momčilo,
        Sage he was, yet he was deceived,
        And to his wife thus he spake:

        'Vidosava, my faithful wife,
        As touching that I will give thee easy comfort,
        Right well may'st thou see the wings of 'čile.
        What time the first cocks crow,
        Get thee forth to the new stable,
        Then will 'čile let grow his wings
        And so may'st thou perceive them.'

        He said, and laid him down to sojourn among dreams.
        Momčilo slept but his wife slept not,
        On the pallet she listened
        For the first cocks to crow.
        And when the first cocks crowed,
        She sprang from the soft pallet,
        She lit the candle in the lantern,
        She took with her tar and tallow
        And straightaway went to the new stable.
        And in truth it was as Momčilo had spoken,
        For Jabučilo did cause his wings to grow,
        Down to his hoofs he caused his wings to grow.
        Forthwith she smeared his wings,
        With tallow and with tar she smeared them
        And with the candle she set the wings on fire.
        With fire she burnt them up, the wings of Jabučilo,
        And what by fire she could not utterly destroy,
        She bound up fast around his knees.
        
        Thereafter she hied her to the armoury,
        She took the sword of Momčilo
        She dipped it in salt blood,
        and returned to the soft pallet.

        On the morrow when the dawn whitened,
        Vojvoda Momčilo arose,
        And to his wife Vidosava he said:

        'Vidosava, my faithful wife,
        I dreamed a strange dream last night,
        A tuft of mist writhed out
        From Vasoje's accursed country,
        And twined itself 'round Durmitor.
        Through the mist I took my way
        With my nine dear brothers,
        And the twelve brothers' songs,
        And forty men-at-arms from the Castle.
        In the mist, dear wife, we parted,
        We parted and met no more.
        Got wot- this bodeth no good thing.'

        His wife Vidosava made answer to him:

        'Fear not, dear my Lord,
        A good hero hath dreamt a good dream.
        Dreams are lies, God alone is truth.'

        Vojvoda Momčilo made him ready to go forth,
        And he came down from the White Tower.
        Nine dear brothers await him,
        And twelve brothers' sons,
        And forty soliders from the Castle.
        His wife led out the white steed,
        They mount the good horses,
        And fare forth to hunt by the lake.
        When they were come to the lake side,
        The mighty host encompassed them about,
        And when Momčilo was 'ware of the host,
        He pulled at the sword by his side,
        But in no wise could he draw it,
        It was as if rooted in the sheath.
        Then spake Vojvoda Momčilo,

        'Hear ye my brothers!
        Vidosava- the she-hound- hath betrayed me,
        So give me a sword of the best!'

        Quickly the brothers obeyed him
        They gave him a sword of the best,
        And Momčilo spake to his brethren:

        'Hear ye, my dear brothers!
        Do ye fall on the flanks of the host
        And on the centre will I set myelf.'

        Dear God, great marvel it was!
        A thing worthy indeed to be seen of any man,
        How Vojvoda Momčilo hewed about him,
        How he brake him a passage down the hillside.
        
        The horse Jabučilo trampled down more men
        Than Momčilo cut down with the sharp sword.
        Yet evil fortune met him in the way,
        For as he pressed towards Pirlitor,
        There met him nine black horses
        But of his brothers on them there was not one.
        And when Vojvoda Momčilo perceived it,
        The hero's heart brake
        With grief for his born brothers.
        His white hands grew feeble,
        He might wield the sword no more.
        Therefore he smote the horse Jabučilo,
        With boot and spur he smote him,
        For to make him fly to Castle Pirlitor.
        But the good steed might not fly,
        And Vojvoda Momčilo cursed him:
        
        'Jabučilo, may wolves devour thee!
        In sport we have flown from here together,
        Not urged by need, but out of joy of heart,
        and today thou wilt not fly!'

        The brave steed whinnied and made answer:

        'Lord and master Vojvoda Momčilo,
        Curse me not neither urge me onward.
        Today I cannot fly:
        May God slay thy Vidosava!
        She burned up my wings with fire,
        and what with fire she could not utterly destroy
        That she bound fast about my knees.
        Flee thou, therefore, whithersoever thou may'st.'

        When Vojvoda Momčilo heard this,
        Tears rolled down the hero's cheeks.
        From 'čilaš his horse he sprang,
        In three bounds he gained the Castle,
        But the Castle doors were bolted,
        Bolted and barred.

        Now when Momčilo perceived his straits,
        He cried to his sister Jevrosima:

        'Jevrosima, dear sister mine,
        Let down to me a length of linen,
        That I may escape into the Castle.'

        Through her tears, sister to brother answered:

        'Brother, Vojvoda Momčilo,
        How shall I let down a length of linen,
        When my sister-in-law Vidosava,
        My sister-in-law, thy faithless wife,
        Hath bound my hair to a beam?'

        Yet the sister's heart was compassionate,
        Anguish was hers for her born brother,
        She hissed like an angry snake,
        She swung her head with all her strength,
        That the hair was torn from out her head,
        And remained on the beam.
        She took a length of linen cloth,
        She threw it down from the Castle wall,
        Momčilo seized the end of the linen,
        And thus he scaled the Castle wall.
        Yet a moment and he had leaped within,
        But the faithless wife sped thither amain,
        In her hands she bore a sharp sword,
        And she severed the linen sheet above his hand.
        
        Momčilo fell down from the Castle wall,
        The King's henchmen await him,
        And on swords and war-spears he fell,
        On clubs and battle-maces,
        At the feet of King Vukašin.
        The King thrust at him with a war-spear,
        And pierced him through the living heart.

        Then Vojvoda Momčilo lifted up his voice and cried,
        'I adjure thee, King Vukašin,
        Take not to thyself my Vidosava
        Vidosava, my faithless wife,
        For she will cause thee to lose thy head also.
        Today she betrayeth me to thee,
        Tomorrow she will betray thee to another.
        Wherefore do thou take my dear sister,
        Mine own dear sister Jevrosima,
        She will be faithful to thee ever,
        And will bear thee a hero like unto myself.'

        Thus spake Vojvoda Momčilo
        Thus he spake compelling his spirit,
        And when he had spoken he gave up the ghost.
        When Momčilo was now dead,
        The Castle gates were opened,
        And Vidosava that she-hound went forth,
        And gave welcome to King Vukašin.
        She led him to the White Tower,
        She made him to sit down at golden tables,
        And feasted him with wine and brandy,
        With lordly dishes and fine meats of every sort.
        
        Next she goeth to the armoury
        And thence brought him Momčilo's apparel,
        Momčilo's apparel and his weapons.
        And now behold a marvel!
        That which had reached to Momčilo's knees
        Trailed on the ground behind Vukašin.
        What for Momčilo had been a fitting helmet
        Came down on the shoulders of Vukašin.
        What had been a fitting boot for Momčilo
        Therein Vukašin could put both his legs.
        What had been a fair golden ring for Momčilo
        Therein Vukašin might place three fingers.
        What had been a proper sword for Momčilo
        Trailed on teh ground an ell's-length behind Vukašin.
        What had been a coat of mail for Momčilo
        Beneath its weight the King cannot bear him up.
        
        Then cried King Vukašin:
        'Avaj- by the dear God- woe is me!
        Lo, what a wanton is this Vidosava!
        If today she betrayeth such a knight of prowess,
        Whose match there is not in all the world,
        How could she not betray me tomorrow?'

        He called his faithful servants,
        They seized Vidosava the wanton,
        They bound her to the tails of horses,
        They drave them apart before Pirlitor,
        And the horses rent her living body in sunder.

        The King laid waste Momčilo's stronghold,
        And took to him Momčilo's sister,
        Called Dobra-Jevrosima - the Fair Jevrosima.
        He carried her off to Skadar on Bojana,
        And took her to be his wife.
        And by her he begat fair offspring,
        She bare him Marko and Andrea,
        And Marko followed in his uncle's footsteps,
        In the footsteps of his uncle Vojvoda Momčilo.
    

III. Uroš and the Mrnjavčevići ~ top

        Four camps were pitched one by other,
        On the fair plain of Kossovo,
        By the white church of Samodreža.
        One was the camp of King Vukašin,
        The second, that of Despot Ugleš,
        The third of Vojvoda Gojko,
        And the fourth was that of the Tsar's son Uroš.
        These princes disputed concerning the throne,
        And fain would slay the other.
        Fain would each thrust other through with a golden dagger,
        For they knew not which of them was to receive the empire.

        King Vukašin said, 'It is mine!'
        'Not so', says Vojvoda Gojko, 'For it is mine!'
        The young Tsarević Uroš held his peace.
        The child held his peace- he said no word
        Because he durst not before the three brothers,
        The brothers, the three Mrnjavčevići.
        
        King Vukašin wrote a letter,
        He wrote a letter and sent a messenger
        To the white town of Prizren,
        To the protopope Nedeljko,
        That he should come to the Kossovo plain
        To declare who is to receive the empire,
        For he administered the Sacrament to the glorious Tsar,
        He administered the Sacrament to him and confessed him,
        And in his hands are the ancient books.

        Despot Uglješ write a letter,
        He wrote a letter and sent a messenger
        To teh white town of Prizren,
        To protopope Nedeljko.
        A third letter wrote Vojvoda Gojko,
        And sent likewise an ardent messenger.
        A fourth wrote Tsar's son Uroš,
        He wrote a letter and sent a messenger.
        All four wrote letters, and despatched swift messengers,
        Each keeping secret from the others what he did.

        The four envoys met together,
        In Prizren, the white city,
        Before the dwelling of protopope Nedeljko.
        But the priest was not there,
        He was in church at morning service,
        At morning service and the reading of the Liturgy.
        Overweening were the ardent envoys
        And froward of the froward,
        They would not dismount from their horses,
        But urged them into the church.
        They drew their pleated whips
        And smote protopope Nedeljko,
        'Come hence, and quickly, protopope Nedeljko!
        Hence, and quickly, to the plain of Kossovo,
        To declare who is to receive the empire.
        Thou didst administer the Sacrament to the illustrious Tsar,
        Thou wert his confessor also,
        And in thy hands are the ancient books.
        Do thou hasten or thou wilt presently lose thy head!'

        Protopope Nedeljko shed tears,
        He shed tears and answered to them again,
        'Get ye gone- froward of the froward,
        When we have ended the service in the church
        It will be made known who is to receive the empire.'
        
        And the messengers gat them forth.
        And when they had finished God's service,
        And were all come forth before the white church,
        Protopope Nedeljko spake thus -
        
        'My children - ye four messengers,
        I indeed gave the Sacrament to the illustrious Tsar,
        I gave him the Sacrament and I confessed him.
        But as touching the empire I asked him nothing,
        I spake only of the sins that he had sinned,
        So go ye to Prilep town,
        To the abode of Marko Kraljević,
        To Marko, erstwhile my pupil.
        From me he learned his letters,
        He ahs been scribe to the Tsar,
        In his hands are the imperial writings,
        And he knoweth who should receive the empire:
        Summon ye therefor Marko to Kossovo,
        Marko will speak forth the truth
        For Marko feareth none,
        Save only the one true God.'

        The four messengers departed thence,
        They departed thence to Prilep town,
        To the white castle of Marko Kraljević.
        And when they were come before the white castle,
        They knocked on the door with the knocker.
        Jevrosima, the old mother, heard the knocking,
        And called her son Marko,
        'Son Marko, my dear child,
        Who knocketh on the door with the knocker?
        Meseemeth they should be messengers from thy father.'
        Marko arose and opened the door,
        The messengers inclined themselves before Marko:
        'God be thy help, Lord Marko!'
        And Marko caressed them with his hand-

        'Welcome my dear children,
        Is it well with the Serbian knights,
        And with the noble Tsar and King?'

        The envoys bowed their head in reverence,
        'Lord Marko Kraljević!
        In health all are well but they are not accorded together,
        Our lords have quarrelled bitterly together,
        On the wide Kossovo plain,
        By the white church of Samodreža.
        They dispute together concerning the succession,
        And fain would each slay other.
        And fain would each thrust other through with golden dagger,
        For they know not which should obtain the empire.
        They summon thee to Kossovo plain
        To tell them who is heir to the empire.'

        Marko entered his lordly manor,
        And called Jevrosima his mother-
        'Jevrosima, my dear mother,
        Our princes have quarrelled,
        On the wide Kossovo plain,
        By the white church of Samodreža.
        They dispute together concerning the succession,
        And fain would each slay other.
        Fain would each thrust other through with golden dagger,
        For they know not which should obtain the empire.
        They summon me to Kossovo plain,
        To tell them who is heir to the empire.'

        Now although Marko sought ever to do the truth,
        Yet did his mother, Jevrosima, exhort him!

        'Marko- only son of thy mother,
        If the milk wherewith I nourished thee is not to be accursed,
        Do not thou bear false witness,
        To pleasure either thy father or thy uncles,
        But speak according to the judgement of the true God.
        Lose not thy soul, my son.
        Better it is to lose thy head,
        Than to sin against thy soul.'

        Marko took the ancient books,
        He made him ready and made ready Šarac.
        He leapt on the back of Šarac,
        And set out for Kossovo plain.
        And when they were come to the King's tent
        King Vukašin cried:
        'Good fortune is mine, by the dear God!
        Behold my son Marko!
        He will say that the empire falls to me,
        For from the father it will pass to the son.'
        Marko heard, but said nothing,
        Nor turned aside his head towards the tent.

        And when Vojvoda Uglješ perceived him,
        Uglješ spake this word-
        'Good fortune is mine! Behold my nephew!
        He will say that the empire falls to me.
        Say, Marko, that the empire is mine
        And we twain shall reign like brothers!'
        Marko held his peace, he said nothing,
        Nor turned aside his head to the tent.

        And when Vojvoda Gojko perceived him
        Gojko spake this word-
        'Good fortune is mine! Behold my nephew!
        He will say that the empire falleth to me.
        When Marko was yet a little child,
        I cherished him tenderly,
        I folded him in my silken bosom
        Like a fair golden apple.
        And when I went forth on horseback
        Ever I took Marko with me.
        Say, Marko, that the empire is mine
        And thou shalt reign chiefest therein,
        And I will sit at thy knee.'
        Marko held his peace, he said nothing,
        Nor turned his head towards the tent.

        But he went straight to the white tent,
        To the tent of the stripling Uroš.
        He urged Šarac to the tent of the Tsar
        And there Marko dismounted from Šarac.
        When the youthful Uroš perceived him
        Lightly he leapt from the silken divan,
        Lightly he lept and cried-
        'Fortunate am I! Behold my kum!
        Behold my kum, Kraljević Marko!
        He will declare who is to have the empire.'
        They opened their arms, they embraced,
        they kissed each the other,
        Each asked how it fared with other,
        Then they sate them down on the silken divan.
        And after a while
        Day went, dark night came down.
        Early in the morning when it dawned,
        And the bells before the church were sounded,
        All the princes came to the morning service.
        And when they had finished the service in the church,
        They came forth out of the white church
        And sate them down at tables before the church,
        Sugar they ate and rakija they drank.
        Marko took the ancient books,
        He scanned the books and thus spake Marko-

        'O King Vukašin, my father!
        Is thy kingdom too small for thee?
        Is it too small? May it become a desert!
        Ye dispute now an empire that is another's.
        And thou, uncle, despot Uglješ,
        Is thy domain too small for thee?
        Is it too small? May ye lose it!
        Ye dispute now an empire that is another's.
        And thou, uncle, Vojvoda Gojko,
        Is thy Vojvodstvo too small for thee?
        Is it too small? May ye lose it!
        Ye dispute now an empire that is another's.
        Look ye now, else may God not regard you!
        From the father it descendeth to the son,
        To the child the empire belongeth by heritage,
        To him the Tsar bequeathed it,
        When he died and went to his rest.'

        When King Vukašin heard this
        The King sprang to his feet from the ground
        And drew his golden dagger,
        For to slay his son marko.
        Marko fled from before his father.
        For it had ill become him, brother,
        To fight with his own father.
        Marko fled round the white church,
        Round the white church of Samodreža.
        Marko fled and the King pursued after him
        Until they had thrice made a circle
        Round the white church of Samodreža
        Almost had the King reached him,
        When a voice spake from the church-
        'Flee into the church, Kraljević Marko,
        Dost thou not see that thou wilt perish this day,
        perish by the hand of thine own father
        And that because thou hast spoken the judgement of
            the true God?'
        The chruch door opened,
        Marko fled into the white church.
        Behind him the door closed.
        The King rushed upon the church door,
        He smote the wood with his dagger,
        And lo, blood dripped from the wood.
        Then the King repented him
        And spake these words-

        'Woe is me, by the one God!
        I have slain my son Marko!'
        But a voice spake from the church-

        'Hearken thou, King Vukašin,
        It is not Marko thou hast stabbed,
        But thou hast stabbed one of God's angels.'
        
        Then the King was very wroth with Marko,
        And in wrath he cursed him-
        
        'Son Marko, may God slay thee,
        Mayst thou have neither grave nor posterity,
        And may thy soul not leave thee,
        Until thou hast served the Turkish Sultan!'
        
        The King cursed him, the Tsar blessed him-
        'Marko, my kum, may God be thy stay!
        May thy face shine in the council chamber!
        May thy sword be sharp in the battle!
        May no knight be found to put thee to the worse!
        Be thy name renowned everywhere,
        Whilst sun and moon endure!'

        Thus they spake curse and blessing, and so also
            it came to pass.